


The Master Smith (the Once More For Good Measure remix)

by amyfortuna



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Inheritance, M/M, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4144251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened to Dervil and Oswald in the years after Thorin left?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Master Smith (the Once More For Good Measure remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eyebrowofdoom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyebrowofdoom/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Apprentice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169655) by [eyebrowofdoom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyebrowofdoom/pseuds/eyebrowofdoom). 



"Well, that's another good day's work well done, do you think, Oswald?" Dervil pushed himself away from the table where he had rested his hands for a moment, a dirty rag from cleaning his tools still in hand. 

Oswald nodded eagerly. "We're ahead of schedule for once and nearly finished with this order. Please tell me you have nothing more for me tonight." He gave Dervil a quick, hopeful, smile. 

Dervil chuckled. "You're meeting with Ana, aren't you? What's this, the third time with the same girl?" He snapped the rag at Oswald, who danced back, laughing. "Has the great Oswald, the famous lady-killer, finally met his match?" 

Oswald grinned. "Perhaps. But maybe the not-so-famous Dervil should follow his apprentice's example and find a girl of his own." 

Dervil made a face. "Not for me and you know it."

"Well, find someone, then," Oswald said. "If nothing else, think of your poor apprentice. It always goes easier with me when you're either getting buggered or buggering someone else on the regular." He shot Dervil a cheeky grin, and Dervil laughed. 

"I'm open to suggestions, Oswald, as ever! But I really do think just now I'm the only one in this village, since Thormond went back to his family in Rohan."

"Ah, poor Dervil. They're always leaving you, aren't they?" Oswald said, sympathetic but with a smile, taking the rag from Dervil's hand and rinsing it in a bucket of clear water. 

"It's the way it goes," Dervil said, and Oswald looked up from his task at the wistful tone. 

"You're thinking of Thorin," he said. "Stop it. It's been fourteen years."

"He's not coming back," Dervil said, with the air of someone who has said the same thing many times. "I know." He gave a slight sigh, his shoulders slumping. 

Oswald abandoned the rag in favour of placing a hand carefully on Dervil's shoulder. "There now. You never know about these things." He tipped his head, giving Dervil a crooked smile. "Don't get melancholy."

"Do I ever?" Dervil said, working on a smile. 

"I'll refer you right back to my earlier remarks about buggery," Oswald said with a laugh, and Dervil laughed too, suddenly. 

"Oh, go along with you!" he exclaimed, aiming a half-hearted punch at Oswald's shoulder. "Go court your pretty girl! Or tup her. Whatever it is you're actually doing." 

"Little of both, maybe," Oswald said. "See you tomorrow!" 

\-----

He couldn't even say when his attraction started. Probably from the minute the blasted dwarf stood in front of the three of them, the loutish Henri, the tiny Oswald, and the smitten Dervil, with a look of utter contempt on his face. _If it were at all possible to do the job by myself, I absolutely would_ , he had probably been thinking. 

After Henri left in a fit of rage, referring to Dervil with some very rude words indeed, Dervil, guilty, had tried to make up for his loss in every way possible. Thorin had been kind to him - kinder than anyone he could remember since his brief apprenticeship with the former smith, who wasn't his father, but had played a father's part to him. 

But Dervil most certainly didn't feel the same way about Thorin. The sight of his muscles flexing as he brought the hammer down time after time was delightful to say the least, and Dervil had to make himself work as hard as he could, focusing on nothing but that, to avoid falling behind due to staring in the general vicinity of the dwarf all day. The brief glimpse he'd had of Thorin naked, rising up out of the bath, water streaming from every hair of him, thick cock lying quiescent against his thighs, had left him overwhelmed, embarrassingly so. 

Of course he overcompensated by working himself half to death, that first few days after Henri took off. It got to the point where he was enjoying the pain, almost, because it meant that Thorin would soon notice, would soon pull him into the house, and put him in a hot bath, where he could watch him wander around, hands always busy with something, or better yet, Thorin would put his hands on him, massage some of the stress and strain out of his shoulders. 

When the girl showed up, hung around, Dervil knew she wasn't watching him. Melisae was fair enough, but his own proclivities had never gone in her direction. She was a bold one, though, following Thorin into the storeroom. The door shut fast, and Dervil let out a cry of anguish, watching it. 

"Don't carry on so," Oswald said. "She told me the master took her up the bluff. They've probably been together for a while." 

Dervil frowned horribly. "I'm going to chop wood for a while," he said, and didn't so much as chop the wood as destroy it. Absorbed, he didn't even see her leave, and it was some time later when Thorin approached. 

"Lad?" Thorin asked, and his voice was worried. 

Dervil couldn't hold back his irritation and stress. "What?" he growled. 

"Are you well?"

Dervil couldn't look at him, but carried on chopping wood like the smithy would run out in the next five minutes. "Fine." 

Thorin shook his head and walked away. 

Dervil demanded answers, later, well aware he had no right to them, but his need was greater than his will, at that point. Thorin's behaviour was confusing, uncertain. 

That night, in the warmth of the bath, with Thorin's hands on his shoulders, arms and back, Dervil got hopelessly, helplessly hard under the water. He could not help but gasp with it, every touch from Thorin stoking the flame higher. When Thorin patted him gently, it was all he could do to only lean against Thorin's chest, and not turn and kiss it through his clothing. 

It was a long time before he could manage to get out of the bath, and even then he was still hard, still aching with it. Somehow, he thought, he would have to find relief, or he would surely go mad. Even the pain of Thorin's hand rubbing out the muscles of his right shoulder had transmuted entirely to pleasure, and he gasped and breathed hard against Thorin's shoulder. 

Thorin stroked a hand down his spine, and Dervil knew he was lost. It was far past the time for subtlety and so he just reached for Thorin. "May I not do something for you?" he breathed, and found to his surprise that Thorin hardened rapidly under him, moaned in need, did not even think of resisting when Dervil stripped him. 

When Thorin came, holding his head down hard, Dervil could hardly bear it, and as soon as he was released, sprang for Thorin, grabbing his hand, bringing it to his own cock. At Thorin's first tentative touch, he growled, "Harder, faster," in a voice he did not recognise, and was desperate with relief when Thorin complied. 

He came almost immediately, harder than he ever had in his life before, came all over Thorin's chest, and looked down at the seed there, draped over the dark fur that nearly covered him. It was unbearably beautiful, and the thought entered his mind, "I wish this could go on forever." 

Of course it was not possible. Dervil knew that Thorin did not intend to stay with him, could not stay with him, but it was unaccountably irritating to hear it, all the same, the next day. 

That night alone in his bed at his cold lodging-house, Dervil contemplated the situation and found in himself a kind of resignation. Thorin would leave, but at least he could ask why. At least he could enjoy the time he could have, and not waste it alone. 

It was a little more than a month, in the end, and all the years between had not compared. There had been lovers, oh yes, and more than once, promises exchanged, only to be broken. Thormond was only the latest in a long line of lovers who said sweet things in bed which never came to pass. 

At least Thorin was only ever honest, Dervil finally realised, years later. At least he made no promises. 

 

\-------

It was a late midsummer evening, and Dervil sat outside the living quarters, on a wooden chair he traded work for some time ago. Over time, he'd improved the living quarters admirably: replaced the pallet with a bed, fixed several small holes in the wooden frame of the house that were letting in the cold air, added a covered veranda and two bedrooms, one for himself, one for Oswald. The main room was now living and kitchen space only, and it was furnished and decorated with comfortable cushions on a large couch, a new common table, and a much improved fireplace. 

The sun was setting over the fields beyond the smithy, lighting them up golden. Dervil watched the sunset idly, wondering when (and if) Oswald would be back. These days, likely as not, he spent near the whole night out, with the energy of a young lover. 

At 32, Dervil was no longer the youth he had been, but was fully grown, well-developed and strong, in the prime of his life. He'd added an inch or two after Thorin left, but mostly had developed muscle, until it was him the girls came to watch, despite all of them knowing well that he wasn't interested. 

He saw the small figure approaching along the road from a long way off. For a moment, Dervil just sat and watched, hardly daring to believe it was real, thinking it must be some other dwarf, or perhaps a child, coming down the road toward the smithy. But the way he moved, the form of him - it was exactly as he remembered - and he took a deep breath, then rose and walked toward Thorin's approaching shape. 

For a moment they looked at each other, and a small smile crossed Thorin's face. Then Dervil sank to his knees in the dusty road, and Thorin set his pack aside, and walked toward him, steps somewhat hurried, but majestic. 

Their embrace lifted a weight from Dervil that he had hardly known was there, and Thorin clung to him, strong arms around his shoulders, for a long moment, before drawing back. Dervil followed him, kissed him hard, loving the feel of Thorin's beard against his face, and the well-remembered smell and taste of him. 

"It's good to see you," Thorin said, breath somewhat harsh, in the fading sunset. "You look well. Not as I remember, much, but well." 

"As do you," Dervil said, "and just as I remember." He rose to his feet, taking Thorin's hand. "Come with me." Thorin gathered up his pack, and together they walked back to the house. 

Inside, Thorin looked around, approvingly. "You've done well," he said. He can't quite seem to meet Dervil's eyes, now that they are inside, and the bedroom just a few steps away. 

They sat down together on the couch, Thorin's feet dangling, and Dervil close to him, so that their bodies touched all down their sides. Dervil laid an arm across Thorin's shoulders, and Thorin looked up at him, a smile back on his face. 

"Why are you here, then?" Dervil said, after a moment. 

"Just passing through, I'm afraid," Thorin said, and then hastily, "but I can stay for a day or so, if you'll have me." 

Dervil wasn't quite able to resist the innuendo. "Any way you like," he said, just for the pleasure of seeing Thorin blush hotly. Dervil brought his mouth down to meet Thorin's, kissing him again and again, fast and hard. Thorin made a strange noise in the back of his throat, and tugged Dervil's hand to his crotch, still clothed. 

Dervil spent the next little while frantically hoping Oswald wouldn't return early, and then the next few minutes after that not much caring if he did. 

When they finally lay slumped on the sofa, half out of their clothing, Thorin draped over Dervil like a blanket, Thorin spoke again. "You should know that I've put you in my will," he said, incongruously. 

Dervil was amused, with a tinge of bitterness underneath the amusement. "I didn't know you cared," he said, trying for sarcastic, but belying it by reaching up to push Thorin's hair out of his face, gently. 

Thorin stared at Dervil's collarbone, intently. "Well, you have been the only one for me," he said, flushing. 

"I - really?" Dervil asked, and then quickly, "I've had others, but none I thought of as fondly as you." 

Thorin buried his face against Dervil's shoulder for a moment, breathing in deeply, and then raised his head again. "I'm planning a great Quest to take back our Lonely Mountain," he said. "It may be a few years still until this can be done, but if we succeed..." He trailed off, thoughtfully. "There was a town of Men, called Dale, near our doors. If my kindred return to the Mountain, then Men will return to Dale, and they will need good smiths." He smiled down at Dervil, hopefully. "If we succeed, would you come and dwell near me?" 

"I would," Dervil answered without hesitation. "You should know that Oswald is near enough ready to be a master smith himself by this point, having started so young. And I have no other ties here." He leaned up, whispering even though they were alone: "I would follow you unto the very ends of the earth." 

\-----

Dervil looked up at the knock on the gate. Two dwarves stood there, one white-haired, one nearly bald, very tall for a dwarf. "Master Dervil?" the white-haired one said. "We are Balin and Dwalin, sons of Fundin, at your service." They both bowed. 

"At yours and your family's," Dervil said, opening the gate, and bowing slightly in return. "What can I do for you?" He could feel Oswald's eyes on his back, and turned slightly to see him staring. "Carry on, Oswald," he said. 

"We come about the will of Thorin Oakenshield," Balin said, "in which you are named." 

"Oh," Dervil said, and felt his whole heart sink out of him and his knees go weak. "He is dead then." His voice was a small and broken thing. Behind him, something clattered to the ground. 

"Yes, lad," Dwalin said, not unkindly.

"Come inside," Dervil said, and then looked over at Oswald, who had dropped his hammer and had his face in his hands. "You too, then, Oswald." Oswald straightened visibly, and started shutting down the smithy for the day. They'll get no more done that afternoon. 

"He never explained," Balin said as they made their way into the house. "How did you become so well acquainted with Thorin Oakenshield?" 

"Twenty years ago, I was his apprentice for a while," Dervil said. 

"You must have made a good impression," Balin said. "In all the wanderings from place to place we did, you are the only one he met in those times named in his will." 

Behind him, Dervil could hear Oswald making a faint, aborted, attempt at laughter through his tears. Dervil blushed and said nothing in reply. 

Balin spread out a large document on the common table, and ran his finger down the words on it until he came to a certain section. Dervil, glancing over his shoulder, could see the section title: _Bequeathments To Friends_. All the other names were Dwarven. 

"To Dervil of Tharbad, I bequeath and give entirely my own set of smithing tools for his use, and my ring of mithril and emerald, in hope of fond remembrance." Balin read out the line carefully, and then looked up at Dervil. "You should know that the ring he speaks of is one he wore all his life, and is a gift worthy of a king." He frowned, not unkindly. "And yet he gives it to you, a humble smith in a remote village."

Dervil shook his head. "I am not worthy of it, Balin son of Fundin."

"Nonsense," Dwalin put in. "Balin, stop questioning the man. Our king's orders are clear, so hand it over." 

"What became of Thorin's quest?" Dervil asked, before he could stop himself. "What of the Lonely Mountain?" 

"We succeeded at great cost," Dwalin said, sitting down in one of the low chairs near the table. "We lost Thorin, and Fili and Kili. Dain Ironfoot now rules in Erebor, and Men rebuild the town of Dale at our gates." 

Dervil glanced up. "He spoke to me of Dale, once. He asked me to come and dwell there, if his quest was accomplished." 

Oswald, standing just behind the group near the door, spoke up. "And do you wish to go?" he said. 

"Yes," said Dervil.


End file.
